


The Final Straw

by jane_x80



Category: NCIS, Numb3rs (TV)
Genre: Character Bashing, Competent Tony DiNozzo, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Secret Relationship, Tony DiNozzo Leaves NCIS Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: After a difficult case, Tony can feel a migraine coming on and Ziva and McGee keep acting like idiots and poking him instead of working. Gibbs' words and actions make it worse, and Tony finally blows up.
Relationships: Anthony DiNozzo/Don Eppes
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1473
Collections: 2019 NCIS Secret Santa Gift Exchange





	The Final Straw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Penumbria!
> 
> Your Secret Santa

Tony DiNozzo was in a bad mood. He was feeling antsy and crappy, and his head was starting to hurt. He was just tired of everything. They’d had a long week chasing down a Marine who had killed his own family, including his own two sons, and then he’d had to shoot the man to prevent more deaths. And then afterwards, Vance had given him a hard time during the review, questioning whether or not he had been justified in shooting the man, despite the fact that the fucking Marine – trained to be lethal killing machine – had a loaded handgun to the head of a nine year old boy who had the misfortune of resembling one of his sons that he’d just murdered in cold blood. 

And then there were Tony’s teammates. His so called teammates. Ziva and her non-stop bitching and incessant nattering about his childishness and unprofessionalism. McGee and his immense chip on his shoulder and juvenile need to reiterate all the reasons why he was better and smarter than poor dumb ol’ Tony DiNozzo, who’s too dumb to know his ass from his elbow, whose college degree was probably faked or bought. Never mind that Tony had a Masters in Criminology and another in Behavioral Psychology from colleges whose names even McGee would respect, and that he’d worked his ass off to earn them while working full time in law enforcement. It might have taken him years to complete his two Masters, but they were worthwhile and he was proud of them. But he’d also never publicized it, either, which was something he regretted some days. Like today.

And Gibbs. Always undermining him. Forgetting all that he did for the team. All that he did for Gibbs, both at work and outside of it.

Well, fuck that shit. Tony was so fuckin’ done with it all. He growled quietly under his breath as he tried to work.

Should he quit? Quit the team that hadn’t been making it worthwhile for him to come to work, despite the good that they did, solving crimes and righting wrongs, bringing justice to those who couldn’t get it for themselves?

Quitting. It was an attractive idea. It was becoming more and more attractive with each passing day. He’d been here too long anyway. It was about fucking time for him to leave. He should have taken that fucking team lead position in Rota when Jenny offered that to him, and gotten the hell out of dodge then, fuck the fact that Gibbs couldn’t even get Tony’s name right half the time back then.

He kept his eyes down, scanning the cold case file, feeling an ache start to climb up the back of his neck and into the back of his head. He was familiar with the pain. It was the beginnings of a migraine. Just fucking great. It was exactly what he didn’t need on this bad day, but hey, when it rains, it fucking pours.

He dug in his backpack and slipped a migraine pill out of a nondescript container, and palming it, strode to the men’s room. He downed the horse pill with mouthfuls of sink water cupped in his palm, sprinkled water on his face and back of his neck, and patted himself dry, fussing with his hair a bit before going back to his desk.

“You take too many breaks, Tony,” Ziva told him cattily as he sat himself back down in his chair. “Your bladder must be the size of a peanut.”

He grunted noncommittally, choosing to ignore it and go back to his cold case.

“Yeah, Tony. You’re gonna get us all in trouble with Gibbs at the rate you’re going,” McGee jumped in in that whiny bitch voice of his.

Tony ignored them, calmly turning the page in his file, despite the fact that he hadn’t actually read a word of it, what with his blooming migraine and the idiots on his back.

“This attitude of yours is why you always end up in trouble with the Director,” Ziva continued. “Never taking anything seriously. Always ponying around.”

“Horsing around,” McGee corrected her.

“It is the same thing, McGee,” Ziva glared at the junior agent.

“No it’s not. To horse around is to play around like Tony does. You pony up money when you lose a bet.”

Tony kept silent and turned another page, ignoring their bickering.

“It is time you became a responsible adult. You must take what we are doing seriously,” Ziva turned her attention back to him, having the gall to actually lecture him. As if Tony wasn’t the seasoned investigator that he was. As if Tony hadn’t been the one to teach Ziva what to do to process a crime scene and not destroy evidence, instead of what to do to _create_ a crime scene which was what her previous experience had been. Investigators and ninja assassins in charge of wetworks had different skillsets, after all. Kind of on opposite sides of the coin, if you thought about it.

“Who’s not taking work seriously?” Gibbs’ voice came from right behind Tony.

Tony forced himself not to jump. Fucking Marine and his stupid fucking sneaking skills.

“Tony,” both Ziva and McGee pointed to him.

“What?” Tony looked up, eyes wide with shock. He was the one actually reviewing a cold case. He was the one who’d just corrected all their fucking lazy ass error-riddled reports. And he was the one who’d just been grilled by the Director himself because he doubted that Tony had to kill a Marine before the man could gun down yet another child.

And then came the unexpected head slap. Tony’s wince of pain was not feigned. The migraine was still threatening, and if he recalled, the Marine had bounced his head off the wall a time or two before the final showdown.

“Shape up,” Gibbs barked at him.

Tony turned and stared at Gibbs. “Are you actually telling me to ‘shape up’?” he asked, his green eyes wide, hurt beyond belief. Gibbs, his mentor, the man who had hand-picked him to join the team, stolen him from Baltimore PD was actually telling him to _shape up_ after the week that they’d had. After all that he had done for the case and for the team in the past week alone?

“Just get back to work and stop fucking around,” Gibbs said, without even looking at him.

And that, right there, was the last goddamned straw. Gibbs didn’t even give a shit about the fact that _Tony_ had actually solved the case for the team, had tried to defuse the situation and in the end, he’d been the one to pull the trigger before the Marine could hurt the child. And now he was the one asked to get back to work? More work? That was what he got for his troubles? More work and no respect at all?

His fingers trembling, Tony emailed the whole folder that he’d kept, containing all of Ziva and McGee’s reports in their original format, the emails that he sent to them requesting corrections, emails back either with half-hearted corrections or refusals to make the requested corrections, and the reprimands that he’d written up and filed to no avail, and he sent the email and the humongous zipped attachment to Gibbs, Vance, Delores Bromstead from HR, the main HR mailbox and his attorney. There was no way they could sweep this under the rug, now that he’d included Delores as a recipient. She was fond of him once they’d actually made friends.

This move was something he’d been thinking about for a long time now. He’d had the email written and ready to go, updating the folder to be attached as he went, thinking he was overreacting every time he wanted to send it and talking himself out of doing it. But this time, he pulled the proverbial trigger. Email sent, Tony pulled his top drawer open, clipped his weapon to his belt and picked up his creds.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gibbs turned those cold blue eyes on him.

“Home,” Tony said quietly. He set documents to print, signed and dated them, and handed them to Gibbs. “You can choose which ones you want to file,” he said quietly. “If you choose the resignation, I’ll come back to leave my gun and badge with you after my two weeks are up.”

“What?” Gibbs squinted at the papers.

Impatiently, Tony pulled a spare set of Gibbs’ reading glasses out of his backpack and flung them at Gibbs and he yanked the power cord out of his computer, shutting it down as abruptly as he could.

“What _is_ this?” Gibbs asked, frowning at the papers in his hands.

“I’m taking two weeks off. And it’s your choice whether I come back here or not. It can be my two week notice if you like. I’ve given you two documents, one is a request for leave and one my resignation,” Tony ignored Gibbs’ look of disbelief. “I’m fucking sick of you people and your fucking bullshit. I was the one actually doing work here today – your two fucking pets over there were just bugging the shit out of me instead of doing any fucking work. And if you recall, _I_ fucking solved the case today. _I_ had to shoot the guy, and _I_ saved that kid’s life but oh, apparently, Vance thinks it wasn’t a righteous shoot and I was in the wrong for trying to prevent a nine year old’s brains from being splattered all over the walls. Even though IA had already cleared me. And you guys think _I_ need to grow up and work more? Well, fuck that shit. I’m done with this. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Tony grabbed his backpack and his jacket and stormed to the stairwell, unsure if he was angry or relieved not to hear anyone call his name. He drove home, and although his original intention was to just blow out of town, drive somewhere and find someplace quiet to hole up in, Gibbs’ had headslapped the migraine into being full force, not to mention his own anger was exacerbating it. By the time he got home, he could barely see out of one eye so he stumbled into his apartment, turned off his phone, shed all of his clothes, and quietly curled up on his bed, pulling the covers over his head to shield him from any light. He whimpered in pain, and tried to force himself to sleep, hoping he would be able to sleep through the worst of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was pitch black when he woke up, head still in unbelievable pain. Groaning, he pushed the covers off and blinked. Still completely dark even though he was fairly sure he hadn’t closed his blinds. He turned the bedside lamp on, and either the lightbulb had blown or his migraine was causing temporary blindness because he still could see nothing but darkness. He flicked the lamp off again and rolled himself carefully to a sitting position, cradling his head. He needed to relieve himself and give himself an injection if he was going to stand a chance at any kind of normalcy in the morning.

He stood, swaying for a moment, before he stumbled to the bathroom, using his hands to feel for the walls. Not the first time he’s groped his way to the bathroom in pain, or in this state of (hopefully) temporary blindness, so at least he’s in his own apartment and he was very familiar with its layout and could definitely walk around it blind. Which was what he had to do right now.

He sat on the toilet, not trusting himself to stand and urinate. And when he was finished, he flushed, wincing at the stabbing pain that the sound caused him. He should’ve skipped flushing, but it was an automatic movement that he didn’t think to prevent. He washed his hands and felt in the medicine cabinet for his pre-packed syringes. Tearing the package open with his teeth, he swabbed his ass with an alcohol wipe, and jabbed himself, the movement easy and smooth, borne of experience. He could do it blind or sighted. Then he left everything on the sink, filled a glass with water, drank it thirstily, and stumbled back into bed.

As the medication did its work, and Tony slid back into unconsciousness, he smiled to himself. At least the temporary blindness made it so he couldn’t see any light, and therefore it couldn’t hurt him more or make him nauseous. It was the little things. Glass half full and all that shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was rudely awakened when his blankets were pulled off of him and he was roughly manhandled into a sitting position. Light stabbed his eyes and he groaned, trying to shield himself. Where was the temporary blindness when he fucking needed it?

“Are you high?” a familiar voice demanded.

“What?” Tony cringed from the sunlight, the temporary blindness now completely cured and his eyes now hypersensitive to the light instead.

“Are. You. Fucking. High?” a syringe was brandished in his face.

“Gibbs?” Tony mumbled, trying to pry his eyes open. His head ached still, but it was a good ache, the kind of ache that meant that the worst of the migraine was behind him. But he could still do with a migraine pill and maybe a few more hours of sleep. And he could definitely do without any light that could cause stabbing pain in his head at this stage. He had blackout curtains for a reason.

“If this is how you cope with stress, then don’t bother coming back.”

Tony swayed in the bed, still not quite sure why he was sitting up, swallowing hard as nausea almost overcame him. “ _What?_ ” He finally pried open crusted eyes and stared at the man who he’d respected and revered for years. “What did you say?”

“I said, if you’re doing drugs, then don’t come back. I’ll file the right papers for you.”

Bile rose up in his throat and all Tony could do was lean over the side of his bed and heave onto the floor. Not much came up, only a small spatter of throw up on the floor, but it did alleviate the nausea a little.

Tony sprang off the bed, swaying dizzily for a moment, before fury overcame him. “You think I’m doing drugs?” he spat. He stalked out of his bedroom, ignoring the fact that he was completely stark naked, dug out his creds from his pants – carelessly left on the floor from his retreat to his bed the previous night, and found his service weapon in his gun safe. “Fuck if I’ll ever work for you again. I’m done. Take this and get the fuck out. Take the fucking syringe and ask Ducky about it.” He herded Gibbs over to his front door, shoved him out and slammed the door shut and locked and deadbolted it behind him.

Then his knees gave out and he slid to the floor, trembling as he came off his adrenalin high. After a long while, he pulled himself together. He downed a migraine pill, showered, cleaned his throw up, put his apartment to rights, packed a small duffel bag of things and called a cab. He was in no shape to drive anywhere but he needed to get out and not be here for a while. He looked around the apartment, picked up his backpack and the small bag, and left his phone on the island in the kitchen. He wouldn’t be needing that anymore. Fuck Rule 3 and fuck the guy who made all the goddamned rules but never bothered to adhere to them himself.

He closed and locked his door, gave a friendly wave to his elderly neighbor, and slipped sunglasses on as he walked to the taxi awaiting him at the front of his apartment building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gibbs stormed into Autopsy where Ducky and Palmer were working on a victim, it was Balboa’s case. Seeing Gibbs’ expression, Ducky sent Palmer off to Abby’s with some samples before he turned his attention to his old friend, stripping his latex gloves off.

“Jethro, what has you in such a tizzy today? I thought your team just closed a case last night and was taking it easy today. Have you caught another one already?” he asked.

“DiNozzo is doing drugs,” Gibbs handed him the evidence bag with the used syringe from Tony’s bathroom.

“That’s completely ridiculous, Jethro,” Ducky took the bag and glanced at it. “Oh dear…”

“I _told_ you!”

“Jethro, where did you get this?” Ducky’s eyes were steely blue, his expression grim.

“On DiNozzo’s sink, just left out like that. In the open.”

“And what was dear Anthony’s condition?”

“Passed out on the bed!” Gibbs practically spit out, rage still coursing through his veins. How could Tony end up being a drug addict?

“Did you wake him?”

“I had some trouble rousing him, and then he threw up,” Gibbs grit out, as if that were the final damning evidence that he needed.

“Did you exchange words?”

“I asked if he was high and he threw me out.”

Ducky closed his eyes, and breathed out, as if trying to calm himself.

“What’s he gotten himself into?” Gibbs asked. “He gave me his gun and badge, but can we fix this? Get him straightened out and then back to work?”

Ducky opened his eyes, and Gibbs was stunned by the pure fury in the old ME’s expression. “You will stand there and say nothing while I call that poor young man you have just maligned,” his tone was so grim that not even Gibbs dared to cross him.

Ducky reached for the phone and dialed a number, growling in frustration when it went to voicemail. “Anthony, my dear boy, it’s Ducky. I’m calling to see if you are quite all right? Do you need me to come over? Please do ring me back when you can. I hope you are not in terrible pain. I shall speak to you later, my boy,” he kept his tone pleasant.

After he hung up, he turned back to Gibbs. “I can’t tell you anything other than the fact that I prescribed this to Anthony,” he held up the syringe. “I cannot violate doctor patient confidentiality, but all I can say is that what he uses this for is serious but it is not life threatening. It does not affect Anthony’s work. He does not let it. But if you accused him of being an addict without all the information, and he gave you his gun and badge, I’m going to guess that you have just lost your Senior Field Agent forever. I heard that last night there was a blow up in the bullpen and he gave you the option of filing either his resignation papers or his two week leave?”

“He’s sick, Duck?” Gibbs’ jaw dropped, suddenly thinking of how pale Tony had looked, and how hard it had been to wake him up. He’d thought the younger man was passed out from the drugs. Had he been sick instead? He’d definitely looked rough and out of it when Gibbs forced him to sit up.

Ducky glared at him. “Ask him yourself,” he said rudely, “if he’ll ever speak to you again.”

Ducky started to turn away and Gibbs put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Duck?” Gibbs sounded uncertain for once.

“I’m afraid I have work to do,” Ducky said stiffly. “Please leave me to it. I shall see you at the next crime scene.”

“Duck, he sent documents to Vance, to myself, and to HR. Alleging that Ziva and McGee aren’t carrying their load of the paperwork,” Gibbs said softly.

“Have you asked them if it is true?” Ducky asked angrily. “Because Anthony has been doing their paperwork for them since you left for Mexico.”

“I’ve been back for a while, Ducky.”

“Then perhaps you should think about how long he’s carried your team, with and without you, and then think about what that means now that he seems to have upped and left you.”

“I’ll get him back.”

Ducky looked at him, and with a tone of profound disappointment, he said, “I certainly hope you do not, because you have been taking advantage of that young man for far too long, Agent Gibbs. You do not deserve to work with him anymore.”

“Duck?”

“Young Anthony has not been happy here for a long time, Agent Gibbs. And I blame _you_ for not seeing it. The all-seeing Agent Gibbs couldn’t even see the injustice being perpetrated on his own team, every single day, right in front of your eyes. In fact, you have contributed to the unfair treatment that Anthony has been subjected to. You have both perpetrated it, and encouraged this kind of behavior from your junior agents. You do not deserve to get him back. And if he ever calls me back, I will advise him to leave you for good. Now I have much work to do. Good afternoon.”

Gibbs took that for the dismissal that it obviously was. Normally, he would have objected to being treated so poorly by Ducky, but right now all he could think about was that Tony had been sick with something, and he’d accused him of being a drug addict. It was no wonder that Tony had thrown him out of his apartment.

He ran back to his car and raced back to Tony’s apartment. Again, there was no answer when he knocked, but when he used his key to enter the apartment, this time he didn’t find DiNozzo there. It looked like after Gibbs’ earlier visit, he’d cleaned up after himself and left.

Gibbs called Tony’s phone and jumped when it rang where it was sitting on Tony’s bedside table. He sighed, ending the call. Maybe Tony had just stepped out for a minute for groceries or something and had forgotten it. But his gut told him that Tony had left his cell phone at home on purpose and that he was probably not just out running errands.

Gibbs looked around but he couldn’t find any proof that Tony had decided to go away. It wasn’t like he spent any time at DiNozzo’s place to know what was missing and what wasn’t. But he knew, in his gut, that Tony wouldn’t be home for a while. He locked the place up and went back to work. The next day, another copy of Tony’s resignation letter arrived in his email inbox. It had also been sent to Vance and HR, including to Delores Bromstead. Gibbs also finally opened the email Tony had sent yesterday, and with growing horror, reviewed the documents that he had attached.

Ducky was right. He’d been completely ignoring what had been going on within his team. He’d fucked up and Tony was in the wind because of it. The fact that Gibbs had completely refused to see that McGee and Ziva were rebelling against Tony, and that Gibbs hadn’t backed Tony despite the fact that clearly, the chain of command of their team required it, was nothing short of criminal. Tony had been practically re-writing the junior agents’ reports for the past several years to ensure that when the case went to trial, none of the perpetrators would be able to get off on a technicality. Tony had prevented uncountable injustices to occur, and he’d done it all himself, without any thanks and without any support. He’d reported Ziva’s and McGee’s report writing issues to Vance and to Gibbs in person and in writing, multiple times – all of it was documented in Tony’s attachments – to no avail. He’d stayed on despite what was going on with the team out of loyalty to Gibbs, but Gibbs hadn’t even noticed, or maybe cared, what was happening. Gibbs had been a terrible team lead and that the MCRT even functioned, never mind that they kept excelling, was a testament to Tony’s competence and hard work, and his sense of right and wrong. He was in this business to bring justice, not just to catch criminals but to ensure that once caught, they would be convicted. While Gibbs had lost track of that, thinking of paperwork only as a necessary evil, and not caring what his team did as long as they received no complaints from JAG.

And since Tony had left without warning, Gibbs was now trying to figure out the newest batch of reports that Ziva and McGee had turned in directly to him. To call it a mess was to minimize just how truly unusable they were. He’d sent them back, furious at what they thought was acceptable. He was going to have to send them back to FLETC or something, because this was negligence as well as incompetence on their part. At the very least, McGee should know better. Ziva had been trained by Mossad but McGee was NCIS through and through.

It didn’t help that two days later, when the MCRT caught their next case after the blow up with Tony in the bullpen, the team struggled to solve it. Gibbs was growling at his team left and right because despite all the leads that they seemed to have, they all petered out somewhere, and no one had the kind of brainstorm that Tony always seemed to have, and so they were not solving this next case in the time that Gibbs expected them to. In fact, the team wasn’t working together well at all. This was not the well-oiled MCRT that Gibbs had come to expect them to be. They bickered and complained and did not get the job done. It made Gibbs perpetually angry.

And no matter what Gibbs or the team did, they weren’t able to locate Tony using all of their combined skills. In fact, a few days after Tony’s disappearance, the MCRT was served with a restraining order prohibiting them and Abby from contacting Tony in any form including but not limited to phone, text and email, and ordering them to stop trying to hack his emails and other electronic databases to try to locate him. Violation of these orders would result in legal action being carried out against them.

“A judge signed this?” McGee frowned at the papers. “I don’t understand why a real judge would sign this? I mean, how can this even be real?”

“It must be a prank,” Ziva shrugged.

“It’s not a prank,” Gibbs glared at his two subordinates. “You’ve done enough, don’t you think? Quit hacking around to find DiNozzo, stop harassing him, and just fucking do your jobs for once.”

McGee squeaked at the harsh reprimand, blushing as he scurried back to his desk, but Ziva tried to glare back at Gibbs.

“Do we have a problem?” Gibbs snarled at the Mossad liaison.

“No, Gibbs,” Ziva shook her head, backing down.

“Then fucking get to work on the fucking case!”

Two weeks after he stormed out, Tony DiNozzo came back to the bullpen looking tanned and relaxed. He had sunglasses pushed up in his hair, and was dressed in a pair of jeans that looked old and worn and extremely comfortable, a white t-shirt and a blazer. He had with him a backpack, a cardboard box, and a dark haired, serious looking man. Tony smiled amiably at other NCIS agents and colleagues although his expression turned blank when he walked into the bullpen. Wordlessly he went to his desk and began sorting through the items, putting some in the empty box, some into the recycling, and others neatly into the filing cabinets in his cube.

Gibbs watched as Tony calmly met his former teammates’ eyes but refused to say anything or rise to any of Ziva’s or McGee’s baiting, and the dark haired man with him glared at everyone, Gibbs included. Gibbs could tell that the man was some kind of law enforcement from the way he carried himself. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and a striped tie, and his brown eyes were sharp and assessing, not missing anything that was going on around him. His badge was clipped to his belt and the Glock in the belt holster looked like it belonged there. Interestingly, Tony was carrying as well, despite the fact that he had practically thrown his service weapon at Gibbs two weeks ago.

When Ziva came over, the dark haired man gave her a cold glare.

“You will remain at your desk,” he said, his tone grim. “Per the restraining order, you will stay seated and there will not be any conversation between you or Assistant Director DiNozzo. Once he has cleared out his desk and left the building, none of you may approach within five hundred feet of him.”

“But…” Ziva tried.

“David,” Gibbs growled. “Go back to your seat.”

Ziva gave Gibbs a dirty look but complied.

Gibbs turned to look at Tony, who was quietly filling the box and his backpack, looking through his drawers and cabinets. He looked up and saw that Vance was observing from the balcony above. He knew that Tony’s actions had called scrutiny down on NCIS, starting from Vance, because Tony’s concerns had been ignored from the top down. Tony’s lawyers were asserting that it was a bias against him, and honestly, Gibbs couldn’t deny it. Vance had never warmed up to Tony and chosen not to see exactly who Tony was underneath the playful frat boy persona that he put forward for all to see. Vance had dismissed Tony’s concerns about his junior agents, because he’d openly claimed to want more agents who were like McGee. Vance had probably never really reviewed Tony’s file. Or he would have seen all of the things that Tony brought with him. Things that Gibbs had once known about, but apparently forgotten.

“You’re FBI,” Gibbs said to the dark haired man accompanying Tony. The badge was a dead giveaway.

The man gave him a long look before he nodded.

“Is DiNozzo FBI now, too?” Gibbs asked.

The man turned to Tony who just shrugged and made a face.

“No,” the man finally answered Gibbs’ question, his tone clipped.

Gibbs nodded. He would find out later. After what he’d put Tony through in the past few years, he didn’t feel like making it more difficult for his former SFA that day. Besides, if he was now an Assistant Director somewhere else, he was definitely no longer part of Gibbs’ chain of command. He’d already thrown away the friendship that he and DiNozzo used to have, and the man was no longer part of his team, not to mention the fact that there was still a restraining order in place, he wasn’t going to try to engage Tony in conversation.

The dark eyed man glanced up and gave Vance a fierce glare that made the NCIS director take an involuntary step back. Tony just kept packing his things. He was done in about fifteen minutes. The FBI agent took the cardboard box and Tony hoisted his heavy backpack, and Tony gave his desk a last look before they walked out together. Tony had said not one word during the entire time he was there and that was disconcerting, to say the least.

Vance caught Gibbs’ eye and beckoned to him. Reluctantly, Gibbs went up the stairs and into Vance’s office.

“We are going to be audited,” Vance told him. “All of our NCIS processes are to be reviewed by an external team.”

Gibbs nodded. He wasn’t surprised, given the allegations that Tony’s lawyers had made.

“It won’t be pretty.”

Gibbs nodded again.

“Ziva and McGee may be taken away from your team.”

“Doesn’t seem like they deserve to stay,” Gibbs shrugged. “Me included.”

Vance sighed. “Long time ago, you told me not to underestimate DiNozzo. I should’ve listened to you.”

“I should’ve listened to me, too.”

They stared at each other silently for a moment.

“Did you catch his FBI escort’s name?” Vance asked.

Gibbs shook his head. “I’ll have to ask Fornell to see if he knows.”

“DiNozzo took a position with Homeland,” Vance murmured. “Apparently when it became known that he quit NCIS, the other agencies called him. He accepted Morrow’s offer, an AD position. He’s going to move out west.”

Gibbs nodded. Tony would make a great AD. Gibbs knew that Morrow had been trying to poach Tony for years now, so he hoped that Tony would be happy with Homeland. He certainly deserved it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening Tony rang the doorbell and the ornate door opened, revealing a smiling Ducky.

“Anthony,” Ducky greeted him, pulling him in for a hug. “You look well.”

“I feel good,” Tony smiled.

“And this must be your young man?” Ducky gestured to Don.

“Yes,” Tony blushed. “Ducky, this is Don Eppes. Don, this is Ducky.”

Don shook Ducky’s hand, giving him a genuine smile.

“Come in, come in,” Ducky ushered them both in. “It has certainly been an eventful several weeks, Anthony. I am still very glad and very thankful that you came to me after what happened at your apartment.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Tony shrugged.

“I’m just glad Tony had someone he trusted here,” Don agreed.

“As am I, Donald, as am I,” Ducky agreed. He led them to the sitting room and poured drinks.

“I’m leaving DC, Ducky,” Tony came right out and said it.

Ducky looked sad but he nodded. “I understand. Where are you headed?”

“LA.”

“Ah, and that is where you are located, is that not true?” Ducky smiled at Don.

Don nodded, grinning happily. “Silver lining, I guess,” he shrugged. “I’ve been trying to get Tony to move. He’s been so unhappy with how his team was. I’d move here, but my father is getting up there in age, and I worry about him sometimes, since my mother died. I moved back to LA to be closer to my family anyway.”

Ducky nodded, and Tony was reminded that Ducky himself had lost his own mother not too long ago. He would definitely understand staying put in order to care for an aging parent.

“I should’ve been brave enough to quit a while ago,” Tony said softly.

“Change is never easy,” Ducky put a hand on Tony’s arm, patting him comfortingly. “But I have faith that you will do great things.”

“Time for me to spread my wings, I guess,” Tony shrugged.

“And you won’t be alone doing it,” Don took his hand and kissed it.

“Oh, it is good that you will finally be living in the same city together,” Ducky sighed.

“Not just the same city,” Tony muttered.

“We’re looking to move in together,” Don admitted, and Tony felt his face heat up.

“Oh my, that is truly wonderful news,” Ducky’s smile was genuine. “I assume your father has met Anthony?”

“My dad loves him,” Don’s smile was soft. “Tony’s the son he always wanted.”

Tony just rolled his eyes at that. It was true that Alan did love having him around. Tony couldn’t help but respond to him and want to please him, an instinct that he’d never been able to tamp down around Senior. It had always been one of the things he wished he could change about himself, because Senior had never been the kind of father who had ever been satisfied with anything Tony did. But although Alan could be sharp tongued and tease the hell out of Tony, he wasn’t really difficult to please. Alan was always genuinely pleased at whatever Tony’s efforts might be, and never expressed the kind of disappointment in him that Senior had been prone to do throughout Tony’s life. It was a balm to him to have Alan’s support.

“I trust Director Morrow has offered you a position that you can sink your teeth into?” Ducky was asking.

“It’s going to be great,” Tony grinned.

They stayed and had dinner with Ducky, and finally left after inviting Ducky to visit them anytime in LA once they were settled in. Within a week, Tony’s things had been packed and a moving company was transporting it all across the country, and his apartment listed. It was bittersweet. DC had been the very first city that Tony had ever felt at home in. He had been living out of his boxes his entire time with Baltimore PD, and in all honesty, he felt like he’d never truly found a home anywhere else after his father sent him to boarding school. He’d only ever put down roots in DC. But he was also looking forward to what LA would bring, especially since he was moving there for Don. It made it all very different.

Their final night in DC, Tony and Don were walking hand in hand, after a romantic dinner out, back to Tony’s empty apartment. They’d decided to spend their last night there on an air mattress that Ducky had lent them. One final night in the first place Tony had ever felt at home in, his sanctuary, before Tony flew to LA. There, he and Don would look for a new place together, hopefully a place that Tony would feel was his new sanctuary.

Tony was only mildly surprised to find Gibbs waiting for them by his front door.

“The restraining order is still in effect, Agent Gibbs,” Don immediately slipped into his FBI persona, the one that always made Tony feel like he was in protective custody.

“I know,” Gibbs nodded. “Just wanted to say goodbye to DiNozzo.”

Tony frowned, crossing his arms. “OK,” he pursed his lips. “Sure. I’ll be right in, Don.”

“Tony…” Don looked unhappy.

“It’ll be OK,” Tony assured him, leaning in and kissing him softly. “I won’t be long.” He squeezed Don’s hand.

With a reluctant sigh, Don nodded but the glare he gave Gibbs before he went into Tony’s apartment was a definite threat. He closed the door softly behind him, even though Tony knew that Don really would have wanted to slam it shut.

Gibbs stood there, his blue eyes just watching Tony. Normally, Tony would be filling in the silence with chatter because that was what they did. Gibbs was silent and Tony was chatty. That was how they had always been. But right now, he didn’t feel like he wanted to fill in the silence. If Gibbs wanted a conversation, he’d have to talk first. Tony didn’t care anymore what Gibbs thought of him. Let him look. Tony was done with the man, done with jumping through hoops to try to please yet another person, another father figure, who could not be pleased.

It was a long silence. Tony stood still, meeting Gibbs’ gaze and refusing to allow himself to bite his fingernails or cross his arms, or appear in any way nervous or jittery. Tony hadn’t been the one at fault and he wasn’t going to let Gibbs make him feel bad about how things had turned out.

“You’re leaving town, then?” It might have taken a while to get the message that Tony wasn’t going to speak, but apparently Gibbs finally got the message.

Tony nodded.

“Fornell says you’re not FBI.”

“I’m not.”

Gibbs stared at him. “Where’d you end up?”

“Homeland.”

“Good.”

More silence before Gibbs cleared his throat. “When do you leave?”

Tony glared at him.

“I know, none of my business,” Gibbs sighed. “And your FBI guy, he’s good to you?”

Tony rolled his eyes. Also none of Gibbs’ business.

“Look, DiNozzo,” Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck. “I looked through the documents you sent.”

“And?”

“I should have never let you take all that on by yourself,” Gibbs’ words surprised him. “You were my Senior Field Agent. That should’ve meant something.”

Tony knew that he was gaping.

“It went on for way too long.”

Tony nodded hesitantly.

“They’re both going back to FLETC for a while,” Gibbs continued, and Tony understood that ‘they’ here meant Ziva and McGee. “I may even scrap them both and start over with new agents. Make a new team.”

Tony was speechless.

“That all our cases weren’t just summarily thrown out of court was because of you. You always tried to do what was right to uphold justice. I lost sight of that.”

Tony new that he was just staring at Gibbs but he honestly had lost all capacity to speak. Not that Gibbs had actually broken his rule and come right out and apologized or anything, but it was close.

“I wanted to wish you well,” Gibbs continued. “Homeland is lucky to have you. Should’ve guessed Morrow would finally get you back on his team.”

Tony grinned at that.

“Ducky never told me what was the deal with your health,” Gibbs frowned. “You OK?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Nothing too serious. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Gibbs nodded. “Not something to do with the plague?”

“No,” Tony smiled. “Pre-existing condition. Goes way back before NCIS.”

“You’ve been sick this whole time?”

“Not sick, necessarily. Just something I have to deal with at times.”

“But you’re OK?”

“Yeah.”

There was some awkward silence then.

“I leave tomorrow,” Tony blurted out. “For LA.”

“As far away from here as you can go?”

“No. I’m moving _to_ something. Not away from something.”

“To some _one_?”

Tony shrugged and smiled.

“It’s good to have someone. If he’s not good to you, you let him know my sniper skills are as sharp as ever.”

Tony couldn’t help it. He chuckled at that. “Good to know.” And before he knew quite what was happening, Gibbs had pulled him into a tight hug.

“Good luck, Skippy,” he whispered. “Take care of yourself.”

Then Gibbs let him go and disappeared down the stairwell. Tony stood in the hallway, just blinking for a moment, before his front door opened and Don stood there, hands on his hips, ready to confront Gibbs.

“He’s gone?” Don asked, looking up and down the hallway.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t hear any yelling.”

Tony grinned. “He just about apologized and wished us well.”

“Surprising.”

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Good. You ready to come in now?” Don was smiling and Tony loved how his brown eyes softened with emotion, and the laugh lines made him look like everything Tony ever wanted.

“I’m ready,” Tony smiled back, taking the hand that was held out to him. Because he was ready to face whatever came next, and ready to start a new life with this man.


End file.
